This is what an addict looks like

In my case, f*cking gorgeous mate

For about three years after I first gave up drinking, my mother-in-law had this habit of offering me wine every single time we went round for dinner. I would politely decline and she would always act surprised and say: “Really? Are you driving?”

“No,” I’d reply. “I don’t drink any more. Remember?”

“I barely drink myself these days,” she’d say and then proceed to tell me in prolonged detail about the ins and out of her modest weekly booze schedule.

This is a common response when you first tell people you don’t drink. They seem to think you need to hear about their own habits. Sometimes they sound insistent, like they think you don’t believe them when they tell you about how they only drink at weekends (massive yawn). Or they sound defensive, as if they think you might be judging them.

But, in my case, they needn’t worry about either of those things. The truth is, I just sincerely don’t give a shit about how or when other people drink. It’s their business. And it’s fucking boring.

Sometimes they ask: “Why don’t you drink?”

For my first couple of years of sobriety I would try to make the question go away as quickly and painlessly as possible for both parties. I would say something glib like: “I just sleep better,” or “It’s not forever - I just took a couple of weeks off and liked the way it felt so carried on.”

Back then it felt awkward to tell the truth.

If you’re in a social situation, people don’t want to hear you explain your abstinence by saying, “Unaddressed childhood trauma combined with a deep sense of inadequacy, mate. Got any elderflower cordial?”

Not only did they not want to hear about the deeper psycho-emotional issues that underpinned my addictions, I didn’t want to think about them either. I think I began sober life by convincing myself that I’d just let things get out hand and that total abstinence was the only way out. Which was superficially true. But there was all sorts of other, deeper stuff that needed addressing in order to understand why I became a piss head in the first place. Only by understanding them could I confront and, hopefully, set myself free of them. It’s not easy to do that - but it’s easier than being enslaved by the need to drink or snort your feelings away every evening.

If you’re thinking about giving up booze but reckon all that ‘confronting your feelings’ stuff sounds like a bit of a hassle, all I would say is that it’s not nearly as much of a hassle as trying to sort your Uber home from the pub after throwing up on your shoes.

You might think that you drink to relax but once you get sober and look back, drinking just seems like such a massive pain the arse. Being pissed is confusing and uncomfortable and being hungover is even worse. Every simple task becomes more difficult. You’re almost always knackered. Also, you’re always worried about how much of a cunt you might be making of yourself. At least these days I am fully aware of what a cunt I am making of myself.

People seemed so grateful when I played my drinking down.

The last thing they wanted was for me to say I had a drink problem. Because if I did, perhaps they did. And if they did then maybe they would have to do something about it.

People like to believe that alcoholics are only the tramps on park benches drinking meths. They want to think of drug addicts as Zammo in Grange Hill, desperately licking crumbs of heroin from the toilet floor. They need to believe that addicts are completely alien. But addicts do come in all shapes and sizes. We are not all shitting the bed every night or getting arrested for trying to fuck a bin bag on Clapham Common. We are functioning. We are living seemingly normal, often successful lives - but secretly anaesthetising ourselves from the turmoil inside our heads with habitual drinking and drug taking. Until we admit we have a problem, ask for help and start living a happier life in which we are pretty unlikely to ever shit the bed or put our cocks inside a refuse sack.

Nowadays, I know who I am.

I know my flaws. I embrace my vulnerabilities. I know I can be a bit of a dickhead. But I am comfortable in my own skin. I am what an addict looks like: six foot two, bald and fucking gorgeous mate.

After three years of being offered wine by my mother in law - who seemed to delight in ‘forgetting’ that I was teetotal - I’d had enough. One day she offered me a drink over lunch and I went through the usual routine of reminding her that I didn’t drink but this time, when she said: ‘Remind me why you stopped?’ I replied, dead casual like, “Because I was a massive alcoholic and coke head.”

That shut her up.

The Reset Podcast With Tom Hodgkinson

I am on a mission to do a little bit less. I enjoy being creative and productive and writing bollocks like this newsletter. But sometimes I overfill my schedule with stuff because, probably, I am fearful of having too much time on my hands to just sit alone with my own thoughts. Anyway, I have always found the writing of Tom Hodgkinson really helpful in this regard. His book, How To Be Idle, is a massive favourite of mine. He draws upon history, literature, philosophy and all sorts of other stuff to illustrate the huge befits of being a little bit more lazy. He joined me for this week’s podcast and was as illuminating as ever.

I Am Now On Instagram

Follow me @TheResetSam for stuff about mental health and just general LOZ and good times

Some services, links and phone numbers to help you through the tough times

https://www.samaritans.org/ Tel 116 123

@calm 0800 58 58 58

@YoungMindsUK 0800 018 2138

@ChairtySane 0300 304 7000

https://www.alcoholics-anonymous.org.uk/

https://cocaineanonymous.org.uk/

https://andysmanclub.co.uk/